


Bewitched

by loknnica



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Pining, Post War, ShikaTema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loknnica/pseuds/loknnica
Summary: Written for ShikaTema Week 2020 - Day 3 - AnniversaryShikamaru pines after Temari as they work. Oneshot.
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	Bewitched

Golden rays of sunshine bathe her face as they sit at the desk in his warm office. A strand of sandy yellow fringe blocks his view of her eyes, and he thinks about reaching out and brushing it away gently but his hand tremors as he realizes how intimate it would be. At least for him.

Luckily, she does him a favor and runs her long, calloused fingers from the edge of her forehead and behind her ear where she tucks her wild hair absentmindedly, remaining stubbornly focused on a piece of paper in her hand. It’s the luckiest piece of paper in the world, he thinks to himself.

He sees the golden specks swimming in the teal of her eyes, and in all his years of life he hasn’t seen anything more beautiful in this world – than her in this very moment.

She crosses her legs innocently like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and it is – except for him. He thinks it’s the most fantastic action he has ever seen her perform, and not just because it caused her already short skin to climb up, allowing him a rare glance of her sun-kissed thighs. He clenches his jaw so hard he can almost feel the joints crackling. His usually remarkable self-control begins to fade as he imagines the feel of her skin under his large hands. It probably feels like sand, he muses, dry and hard – but delicate and so warm it may burn his palm.

She pulls the disobedient skirt back in place and he can finally breathe again. He feels pathetic, pining after such a troublesome woman. He can’t even begin to imagine what in the world he would do if he were allowed to touch her; just her hand, a brush of her fingers, would be more than enough to keep him happy. But he remembers that he’s not allowed to such intimacy and his foolish heart rages in protest, threatening to break through his ribcage out in the open and to spill all his secrets in front of her.

Shikamaru takes a deep breath, another pathetic attempt to retrieve his composure. And it works for a moment – before she leans into him, reaching for a piece of paper to his left. The closeness is intoxicating and the rush he feels from this innocent action easily trumps all the adrenalin he has ever felt in his entire life, combined. So does the fear. Because all of a sudden, loving her seems like the most painful thing in the world, when she doesn’t love him back.

He loves her. He knows it. His self-control over the years had been admirable; hell, he should be awarded a medal for all the times he was able to brush off everything he felt for her, dismissing it as temporary curiosity. But the obliviousness isn’t easy to fake. Not anymore. Not when he knows and admits defeat before a fierce opponent that is his love for this damned woman.

“Shikamaru,” he hears her whisper and his throat tightens up as he feels her hand cover his, begging for attention, “Are you alright? You seem distant.”

“I’m fine, Temari,” he lies flatly and chokes back the words he should’ve said instead. Her touch feels much softer than he remembers.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, and more importantly it won’t work because I know you,” he watches her study his face and he fears it will betray him, “are you thinking about the war again?”

He lets a soft smile of relief crawl up on his face. He lies again and nods. Well, it’s not entirely a lie. He did think back to the war briefly remembering how, as he nearly died, his last thought was of her and everything he’d felt for her that he’ll never get to tell her. After walking out of it alive, he made a vow to be selfish and to confess. He had broken it. His father was right to call him a coward.

Shikaku’s words echoed in his head.

_Even the toughest woman is gentle to the man she loves._

And he believes that she’s sometimes gentle with him. Like the way her mannerisms aren’t exaggerated when they are alone, just the two of them. Like the way she crosses her legs or brushes her hair away from her face like just now. Like how she calls him an idiot but still genuinely smiles at him with whole of her face.

He believes it like a damn fool and allows himself to hope he’ll be ever so lucky to behold her. If only for a moment. He’s supposed to be a genius, surely, he’s not imagining it all?

“Do you miss him?” Temari asks in an innocent way that twists his gut, because suddenly he can’t pretend that his father is just away on a mission anymore; he should’ve known she’d dig into the topic, with the anniversary of the Fourth Great Shinobi War coming up in a few days.

“Every day,” he confesses and there’s a blunt ache in his chest as if his body is refusing to accept the truth of his own words. He feels like vomiting as yet another anxiety attack sneaks up on him, preventing him from breathing. He’s had episodes in the past – they’ve gotten easier and aren’t as frequent, but they happen.

He doesn’t show it, but he sees that she sees it in his eyes – she knows. Her hand reaches towards him, her palm laid flat against his chest that begin to heave increasingly. She moves her hand around and the massaging relaxes him almost instantly.

“I have them, too,” she tells him, and he looks at her as if he’d seen a ghost. He knew that she did, he’s almost witnessed it once, but he never came to her aid and instead pretended there was nothing to see because Temari likes her pride intact and he doesn’t want to make her more uncomfortable than she already is. He can’t believe she’s openly admitting something as personal to him. They have always been close, and they did talk about the war before, but never lowering their guards this far down. Never showing vulnerability. He feels ecstatic at the sudden intimacy, his face burns and he wants to kiss her again.

He’s been wanting to kiss her ever since he was a teenager. The first time he contemplated doing it was when she was being particularly obnoxious and nagging him, as a way of shutting her up. She stopped bothering him at some point, but the idea to kiss her never went away after that. If anything, it only took root and became stronger.

He doesn’t respond to her confession. He swallows hard and glances upon her gentle features – lightly parted lips and half lidded eyes captured in his. He’s completely calm and he realizes his hand is covering hers that’s still neatly placed in the middle of his chest. The glint in her eyes makes him feel a full range of emotions, from sadness to fear to love and he wants to look at her forever.

But she’s not his to love and her hand is slowly retracting from his grasp and for the first time ever he fights against it and wraps his fingers firmly around her own. She’s surprised by the action and she looks at him for an explanation, but he doesn’t give it. He holds her hand in place for a brief second and then he lets her go because he’s a damn coward.

“I’m sorry,” he lies and looks away, because he needs to stop thinking about her, but out of the corner of his eye he sees a disappointed look on her face and it makes him feel his own pulse inside his head. He’s not even sure if it was real or if his mind is playing tricks on him, but his heartbeat starts to increase wildly, his mind a scrambled mess of thoughts of her.

He sees everything now.

He sees her laying underneath him in his bed, her golden hair spilled all over his pillow and her teal eyes shining brighter than the stars as she looks up at him. But he also sees further from that. He sees a future and he sees a home. He sees her old and wrinkled but just as beautiful and fierce as ever and he prays to god he’d be so lucky to die before she does so he doesn’t have to cope with losing her.

Her eyes are shut, her face is flustered and she’s upset with him and in this moment, he finally realizes what he’s supposed to do. His hand reaches out to bring her face closer to his and this time he doesn’t stop. She looks at him curiously with a hint of excitement in her eyes as he leans slowly towards her, uncertainly. His fear is gone when she moves to meet him halfway.

Their noses touch first, and they stand still for a moment, breathing heavily. His chest rises and falls unsteadily. He crashes his lips onto hers with gentle force, and she responds just as he’d always hoped she would – with equal amount of passion and desperation as him, and he finally truly understands that she’s been hungry for him as much as he craved for her.

His kisses leave her breathless, with swollen lips and gentle eyes. He feels her digging her nails into his chest and he can’t help but pull her closer into his embrace. She has him bewitched and he’s ready to fulfill her every wish until the end of his days.

She moans and pants with each passing second and finally whispers into his lips, “What took you so long?”

He smiles as he realized he doesn’t have a proper answer other than his terribly misjudged assumptions that she wouldn’t want him the way he wanted her.

“I don’t know.”


End file.
